The Killer In Me
by H.Skyfire
Summary: wound opens, reveal this broken man, and soon there's notions of blood on his hands ~ Alternate POV. Rated for language and mild violence. please R & R. ^.^
1. An opening

Hey, everybody!   (_Takes deep breath._)  Okay, here goes.  I think I'm really gonna try this.  I've been arguing viciously with myself over the last few days as to whether or not I was even going to post this.  I started writing it in a notebook as soon as I got home from watching Full Throttle for the first time.  (I think I was up 'till 3 in the morning.)  I was only going to write it for me, it was just all of the things buzzing around my head after watching what is now one of my favorite movies.  I've also been reading the other stories here like crazy over the last few weeks, and loving them immensely, I started to think it might be fun to put up my own thoughts and ideas as well.  The problem is, loving these stories as I do, I have become… I don't know, slightly intimidated, I guess you could say?  Hence the self-arguing.  And the doubts.  _Will it be too boring?  Will people get where I am coming from?  Will they disagree with my interpretation of things and think I'm taking people 'out of character'?  _And of course – _Am I overanalyzing too much?!  _Probably.  So here I am, trying this story out on you all.  I decided to go ahead and post a few chapters and see what people think.  Judging on what kind of reaction I get, I may or may not go on.  So please, tell me what you honestly think.

            To open, I decided to use a song that I felt kind of fit the premise of my story.  It's more or less here to set the mood, kind of like the opening credits to a movie.  …_Yeah…_  Anyway, the song is by the Smashing Pumpkins, one of my all-time favorite bands.  As you'll probably be able to tell from (possible) later chapters -- I may use them frequently.  **(I hereby disclaim any ownership or creative rights from all said songs and from any scene from either Charlie's Angels movie.  I own nothing, and am making no money from any of this.  I am just one sad, broke, and lonely little girl.  Wait…**) I'll explain some more about those things buzzing around my head in chapter 1.  But for now, sing along if it pleases you and try and guess from this song who the story is about.  (_Guess correctly, get a prize?)_

The Killer In Me 

****

Disarm you with a smile 

**And cut you like you want me to**

Cut that little child 

**Inside of me and such a part of you**

**(…the years burn…)**

**I used to be a little boy**

So old in my shoes 

**And what I choose is my choice**

**What's a boy supposed to do?**

**The killer in me is the killer in you**

**My love…**

I send this smile over to you 

**Disarm you with a smile**

**And leave you like they left me here**

**To wither in denial**

**The bitterness of one who's left alone**

**(…the years burn…)**

**I used to be a little boy**

**So old in my shoes**

**And what I choose is my voice**

**What's a boy supposed to do?**

**The killer in me is the killer in you**

**I send this smile over to you**

**My love…**

**~~~Disarm**

**by the Smashing Pumpkins**


	2. Ch1: Back to the Beginning

Author's Note:  Okay, here's the first chapter.  Wait!!!  No… I need a drink first.  Bad.  Be right back…_Mmmmmm…raspberry schnapps …tastes like jello._

Okay, I'm ready now.  'K, did anyone guess who this is about?  Yes?  No?  Well here's another hint: It's everybody's 'favorite assassin-for-hire' as they say (in the book and movie).  You guessed it: The Thin Man! 

            Okay, now about those things buzzing in my head from the movie.  Basically, after seeing FT and how it ended, and then after buying the first movie and watching that as well, I started thinking about things from his point of view.  Sort of, the way he'd see everything, or I guess truthfully, my interpretation of the way he'd see everything.  I was exploring this and scribbling things down and came upon a sort of life-flashing-before-one's-eyes sort of thing that might be fun to turn into a story.  So, the way this works is, starting out we come into where FT left off, but then go back through scenes from both movies, but in his head.  It's weird, it's not quite 1st person, but it's not 3rd person either.  We're kind of along for the ride, observing his memories and thoughts.  Eventually it will lead up to the present and then, being the end of part one, I'm not sure yet but I might switch over to 3rd person and the story will follow everyone from there on out.  I don't have it all worked out that far down the line yet.  (Originally I was going to write the whole thing before posting it but I thought, who knows how long _that_ could take?)  

            I did want to say, quickly, that from reading all of the other stories, I absolutely love how many _different _interpretations and ideas there are about this movie and its characters.  I like reading about how others see the characters as compared to how I see them – it makes things so interesting.  It's fun to jump into someone else's shoes for a while.  Anyway, this is just my interpretation. 

Disclaimer:  Ahem… I still own nothing.  No suing me.  

By: Skyfire

Story started on June 27th   

The Killer In Me 

            It was cold.

            It shouldn't have been.  Yes, it _was_ _early_ summer, but this was Southern California, where the nights were hot and sticky for a good six months out of the year.  It hadn't been cold before now.  In fact, no one else even seemed to notice that anything was amiss with the weather as the last shiny cars drove away, the crowds in the street slowly began to disperse, and soon the security too, leaving only the cleaning crew to begin their menial task of ambling about with their little plastic sweepers, picking up pieces of confetti, discarded glasses and empty plates.  All of the excitement that had gone on just hours before meant nothing to these night shift workers.  Here in Hollywood there was a different movie premier almost every week.  Every weekend it was another group of actors and actresses struttin' their stuff down the red carpet, talking to reporters, blowing kisses to rabid fans.  In reality, just more people to clean up after.

            In fact, in the midst of all of the clamor and the popping flashbulbs and surprise fireworks, no one had even noticed the two bodies that had fallen just a mere street and a half away, in the alley.  It was very dark over here, and quiet too, which might account for why they had not, as of yet, been noticed.  It was colder over here too… that must be it.  This strange, icy feeling had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with this person lying there on the ground, the one that had fallen first.

            Could he still refer to himself as a person?  He didn't seem to be anymore.  But he wasn't quite… not either.  

It wasn't as if he could see himself, a lifeless body, lying there in the dirt.  No, he couldn't really see anything at all.  Everything was black and he seemed to be just a mere collection of thoughts.  And these thoughts were beginning to stir now, as the initial blankness began to wear off.

_            How had he gotten to this point?  What had happened to bring him here? _

And as questioning thoughts, such as these, are apt to do, that first question led his thoughts back to the circumstantial cause of his downfall, which led to the cause of _that_, which led back even further, and so forth and so on, until he realized how much had happened within the past year or two that would change so many things.  Now he, being this collection of random thoughts, which weren't actually so random after all, had a purpose and he was hell bent on finding the beginning.  Not just of this latest escapade but that initial fork in the road where he seemed to have taken a wrong turn. 

            _Those damn forks in the road – one could never tell, until it was too late, which path to take._

Finally he had it.  It was that job he'd taken on, the one where that McCadden guy had hired him.  Bastard.  That had to be it because it was so different from his usual jobs.  He never really had to go and look for work; it always came finding him.  He kept to himself but they all knew where he could be found, when he wanted to be.  Eventually they sought him out somewhere in the dim corners of a parking lot, or walking down a lonely alley.  Usually a messenger of sorts was sent with cryptic instructions on where to meet a prospective client.  Then it was on to some noisy bar, or the back of some dimly lit coffee house, where a deal would be pitched to him.  They'd heard about him through the so-called grape vine.  They'd heard he was good, real good.  He never volunteered anything when he heard this.  Of course he was good – he was the _best_.  But he never said it, just gave a half-smile, lit up a cigarette, and half-heartedly listened to the whole song-and-dance routine, only seriously noting the details crucial to the case.  Then he did it, no questions asked.  Personally he'd rather not know.  Just get in, get done, get paid, and get out of there.  That's how he liked to play and that's why people liked him.  He was easy, quick, and mess free.  Well, in a manner of speaking.  You could always count on him to get the job done right.  You almost never had to deal with him again, that is unless you had another job for him…

            And so this McCadden guy had heard of him and had sent a message to meet him at the California Speedway the next afternoon where everything would be explained.  When he arrived the next day, he immediately spotted him, sitting way up in the corner by himself.  It was easy.  Just another jerk kid who'd gotten a hold of a large sum of money and now figured that person who he'd always had a bone to pick with was finally gonna pay.  He had him pegged from the beginning – he'd seen it all before.  But he climbed the ramp anyway, ignoring the heat, and joined the guy.  He stood against the railing, lighting up a cigarette while McCadden pointed out a man, standing below on the track, watching proudly as the finishing touches were put on his brand new black and red race car.  There was a small crowd with him as well as a few reporters.  It was quickly pointed out that this was not the man McCadden was after, but that he did have something he wanted.

            "That's Roger Corwin.  He's the owner of Red Star Systems, kind of a big source of competition to me and my little enterprise."

            He nodded, having heard of the communications firm before.  McCadden went on.

            "Basically I'm just using him and his satellites to catch and fry a much bigger fish.  That's where you come in."  He gave a small laugh, saying, "I'm gonna stage a sort of … hmmm… mock kidnapping and I want to pin it all on him.  _You're_ going to be the connection.  You're going to be the primary one who attacks me and throws me into the waiting car, and all that.  First, though, I need for you to appear to be working for him.  There's where we have a little bit of a problem.  The guy's way up there.  I mean, he's got a huge office building, a gigantically huge penthouse apartment, and security up the ass.  I need for you to somehow infiltrate this guy's mess of assistants, or _servants_, or whatever he's got.  I need someone on the inside so I can know what's going on at all times.  I'm just not sure yet how we're going to do that."

            McCadden's big I'm-so-proud-of-myself-for-thinking-of-all-this grin was lost on him though.  He was busy eyeing that shiny car sitting next to the now beaming Corwin.  It glittered in the heat, temptingly.  He took a quick drag and threw the butt on the ground, grinding it out with his heel before walking away without a word, leaving McCadden sitting there with his mouth hanging open.

            McCadden watched as he moved farther and farther away, walked all the way down the ramp, across the field, and up to Corwin's group.  He calmly waited at the edge of the crowd until the man was finished getting his picture taken, waited patiently as the millionaire made his little speech, to which everybody clapped.  He just stood at the edge, his hands respectfully clasped behind his back, his eyes trained on Corwin.  Finally, after what seemed like forever, Corwin noticed the darkly dressed man who was watching him.  From where McCadden sat he couldn't make out what they were talking about but pretty soon Corwin's booming laughter could be heard as he gave the man a hearty slap on the back.  He gave his customary half-smile in return and stiffly made his way back up to McCadden, who was by now more than a little annoyed.

            "What the hell was that?!"  McCadden asked incredulously.

            He took his time in answering, first lighting up a fresh cigarette and taking a few puffs.  He let his eyes wander over the entire grounds, letting McCadden stew a little, seeing how far he could push the man, and then he said, "I'm driving his car."

            "What car?"

            He didn't answer just turned his head and looked down.  McCadden followed in his line of sight and spotted the shiny new roadster, waiting below.  

            _Oh…_

_**_Okay guys, yes I know.  He talks.  Please don't kill me, but in my mind he always could.  He just chose not to usually.  I think maybe he didn't see most people as worth talking to, but would if necessary.  But don't worry, I really don't have him talking much.  There really aren't many people worth his time.**


	3. Ch2: A Staged Kidnapping, and What It's ...

**N. – **Hey, just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reviewed.  I have one more disclaimer I wanted to add.  The line I used in the description of the story is not mine.  It is quoted from a song called Wound by the Smashing Pumpkins.  I tried to include that in the description but for some reason ff.net wouldn't let me.  I even tried putting the line in quotes so that people would know it was quoted from something but that wouldn't work either.  So anyway, I am disclaiming rights to that song line as well here.  I didn't make it up and I am making no $$ from it.  Okay… 

**Ch. 2 – **A Staged Kidnapping, and What It's Like Working With Fools

      The next part of the job was easy, if not a little fun even.  It had all been mapped out carefully in the basement underneath a large banquet hall in downtown L. A.  The car McCadden was driving was placed in direct view of one of the lot's many security cameras.  McCadden had now begun going by the name of "Knox" and he was upstairs attending some charity ball with his business partner, a smug woman by the name of Wood.  He patiently waited below, in the shadows of the cavernous lot, listening for his cue. 

      McCadden, Knox, whatever, the guy sure was taking a long time.  Taking long enough to make even the most patient kidnapper glance again at his watch, strain to see the time with what dim light the moon afforded him, and shake his head in disgust.  The guy was probably preening in the bathroom.

      Footsteps sounded from a distance.  He tensed, listening, and pulled out a cigarette and lit up.  If it were anyone else he'd need to look like he had a reason to be skulking around in the dark corners of a basement.  Not that it would really matter anyway, people usually never even noticed him, but one could never be too careful.  There were two pairs of footsteps and pretty soon McCadden's voice could be heard in low tones.  It sounded apprehensive.  He quickly ground out his cigarette and dropped it as he began to stealthily trail the two as they made their way to McCadden's BMW.  All three of them were still some distance away from the car.  So absolutely silent was he as he followed them, matching their footsteps, that he could tell that McCadden, even knowing of the imminent attack, was thoroughly spooked.  Ms. Wood walked stiffly beside her "date" responding to everything he said with an abrupt nod.  The tension rolled off her in waves.  

      They were nearly at the car now, and they began to move apart as they each went for their respective side, but he held back, waiting and listening.  Couldn't jump the gun now.  Finally he heard it, the faint screeching of tires coming from below, near the entrance of the lot.  That was his cue – they were coming.  He ran in, coming up behind McCadden and hit him hard in the back of the head, rendering the man unconscious.  Ms. Wood let out a shriek as the first car arrived, a black Cadillac.  One of McCadden's thugs jumped out and helped him quickly throw the downed man into the backseat.  The other car, a blue jeep, was close on their heels.  The passenger in the jeep got out and roughed Ms. Wood up a little, yelled some threatening things into her face, and knocked her to the ground, before leaving her there and jumping quickly back into the jeep.

      His part being done, he got into the Cadillac sitting in the front seat, and both vehicles peeled out, leaving black tire marks on the pavement.  They left the parking lot and made their way through the streets, heading for the freeway.  After a few minutes McCadden came to.  Hearing the movements coming from the backseat, he looked into the rearview mirror only to be greeted with an angry scowl from his employer, who was groggily rubbing the back of his head.

      "What the hell?  You didn't have to hit me so hard you know.  Shit…" he said, glaring balefully.

      He nodded once in a supposed agreement, thinking about what to say.  The driver, sitting next to him, saved him the trouble.  "You know boss, it hadda look authentic and all."

      "Yeah, _whatever_," was McCadden's sullen reply.

      "This guy," the driver continued, poking at him with his elbow in a friendly manner, "he knows what he's doin'.  Not one to do things half-assed if you know what I mean.  Huh, kid – you know what's goes on, don't ya?"

      He looked at the driver, bit back a disdainful sneer, and instead gave a very small (and in his mind _very_ long-suffering) smile and then looked out the window.

      The problem with these other thugs was, they were just that – common thugs.  There was no meaning in it all for them.  They just ran around like a bunch of drunken apes, shooting their mouths off as often as they shot their guns.  They didn't know when it was time to hold back and when to give it everything you had.  They'd_ never_ understand the most important thing about this line of work – that in everything, even in killing, there had to be beauty.  To him, aesthetics were everything.  Balance, meaning and even an ounce of irony meant a job well done.  Anything less and he'd be blaming himself for weeks.  This was his art and he was a very demanding artist when it came to his work.

      Example:  he always kept a gun on hand in case he needed to get himself out of a pinch.  But his weapon of choice was a very long, very thin, very _sharp_ sword.  It was cleverly disguised inside of a classic looking black and silver cane.  He loved its simplicity, its silence.  He handled it so well now that he considered it to be an extension of himself.  Dark, easily unnoticeable and very deadly.

      One had to find beauty in simple things such as this.  Otherwise bitterness could all too easily set in.  One could quickly become jaded and as a result unpredictable and that could only lead to disaster.  But these guys, they'd never understand something like this and that is why they'd never become much, never make it very far.  How he'd even become part of a class such as this – a class of people whose main concern was getting high, and making a fast buck, was beyond him.  It hadn't always been this way.  Believe it or not, his motives, starting out, had actually been somewhat good.  He'd needed to help someone out.  A kid – a sort of "lost soul" similar to what he'd once been.

_      He knew about her because she'd run away from the very same orphanage he'd once lived at.  It had been about four years since he himself had left and even though he'd never contacted the Mother Superior or any of the other nuns who'd cared for him he often found himself wandering around the old buildings, keeping to the shadows as he vainly tried to work up the nerve to go in and visit.  It was one such day, he'd been skulking around, when he saw the missing person poster.  Examining it, he knew he had to do something.  He'd always wanted to help this place out since they'd taken him in all those years ago, when he'd had no place else to go.  It was going under financially but he didn't really have any money or anything.  But here – here was something he could do.  He didn't bother telling anyone of his plans, just ripped the poster from the wall and took it with him._

_      Some clever research back in town turned up some answers.  She had in fact run away, and then found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time and gotten herself kidnapped.  He made his way from one location where she'd been seen to the next, ending up at some noisy bar in a rough part of town.  He showed her picture to the bartender.  Yeah, he'd seen her, she'd dressed herself up to look older than she really was but he'd seen through the disguise and hadn't let her order anything more than a soda.  She sat by the window and these two sleazy guys started talking to her.  At first they were making her laugh and she seemed to enjoy the attention, but then one of them whispered something to her that she didn't seem to like.  When she shook her head and got up to walk away, they grabbed her and took off.  They'd called the cops but they didn't know yet where she was from so they didn't really have anything to go on.  After hearing a brief description of the guys, who'd been seen around those parts before, and a few suggestions on where they might be heading, he got to work._

_      He found them within a few days – they were camped out in some seedy motel just off the freeway.  She was sitting on the floor, handcuffed to the blaring television set.  The window facing the street was partway open to let in a little breeze, and he listened there, to the guys talk about how they were going to get her real high and then pimp her out on the street.  But first they were going to get high themselves.  Around the corner of the building was a tiny window.  Cat-like, he slipped in, finding himself in the bathroom.  There was a gun lying on the back of the toilet, forgotten.  He quietly grabbed it, and then stood there in the dark, wondering how he was going to proceed.  After a few minutes he heard their voices pick up and he crept to the slightly cracked open door, listening._

_      "Hey, pretty," one said, walking over to the girl.  "You want some of this?"  He offered her his lit joint._

_      "Go to hell," she muttered through gritted teeth, face hidden by her long tangling hair._

_      "Heh," the guy chuckled, "Funny.  You know, you ought to have more respect for me.  That's no way to talk to your future employer," he said, stroking her shoulder suggestively._

_      "Get your hands off of me," was her quiet reply._

_      "Dude," the other guy said from the bed, "don't get her all riled up again.  The last thing we need is her squawking and making all the other tenants complain.  Just lay off, alright?"_

_      "You know how these girls are man.  They just play hard to get because they think it's what they're supposed to do.  Huh pretty?  You know you like it.  Let's show him, he don't know nothing.  Come here, give me a kiss."  He leaned in._

_      She turned and spit directly into his face.  "Leave me alone!"_

_      "Bitch!" he screamed, and stood, kicking her hard in the ribs.  She cried out in pain and that was it.  _

_      Before he'd even thought about it, he was standing in the middle of the room and two shots were fired.  Both men were dead before they'd even had a chance to ask him who the hell he was.  He quickly found the key and uncuffed the girl.  She was stunned at what had happened.  He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out of the room, just barely making it to the shadows before anybody saw them.  Within seconds there were people everywhere, standing out in front of the open doorway, most in bathrobes and slippers, demanding an explanation from the equally dumbfounded management.  They made their way through the brush, keeping out of sight.  The sirens were getting near.  About a half block away he found his motorcycle, which had been stashed away, awaiting his return.  He offered her his helmet, and got on, helping her climb on behind him.  He didn't answer any of her questions, only pausing long enough to cryptically tell her that they came from the same place, before starting the engine and making his way back to the orphanage.  When he dropped her off at the gates he merely nodded at her words of thanks and told her not to tell anyone who he was.  Then he sped off._

_      He was worried after that night, that someone would be after him now and for one terrifying moment, thought his fears were confirmed when a very rich looking man in the back of a Mercedes pulled up next to him, as he made his way down a quiet alley, and told him he'd been seen by one of his men outside the motel where the two dead guys had been found.  Then a surprising thing happened.  The rich guy thanked him.  Apparently those two guys had just been some low-life hoodlums who owed this guy a substantial amount of money.  They'd been on the run on account of a price he'd put on their heads, and this man mistakenly thought he'd gone after them for the money.  The rich man tossed him a thick roll of cash and in the band securing it was a card with a number on it._

_      "If you ever want to do some work for me just call that," he said, motioning to his driver, who then drove away._

_      Later he marveled to himself about how quickly and efficiently he'd reacted in that motel room.  Until that night, he'd never really known he'd had it in him.  It had been the anger – that he knew.  Hearing that poor kid scream, seeing her crumple after being kicked like that, something had gone off in him.  Suddenly it all came back – every insult, every jeer that he'd ever received since he was a child came back.  Growing up he'd been teased for being different, for his shy nature and odd look.  For his refusal to talk.  He'd wasted precious little time feeling hurt and confused over these little barbs, instead listening fully and storing them away, a growing supply of hatred and anger to feed off of.  They found it odd, in those days, that he never fought back, never cried, that he just stood there with slit eyes, taking in everything they said, almost as if he couldn't get enough.  They didn't know he was secretly storing it all up to use against them later.  Who knew when it might come in handy?  Well, it looked like he'd certainly found an outlet for all this untapped anger.  It took him less than a week to call the number._

Raucous laughter brought him back to the present.  "You should 'a seen that broad's face when Mitch knocked her on her ass!"

      They were gassing up and McCadden was inside the liquor store next door, walking up and down the aisles like a kid in a candy store on Christmas Day.

      "She's the bosses girlfriend," the driver told him, pointing in at McCadden.  "Man, though, what a bitch!"


	4. Ch3: The Longest Five Minutes

  **Ch. 3** – The Longest Five Minutes

_You can't always not get what you don't want **/** flaunt what you got and what you got flaunt **/** speak double doom as much as you want **/** you can't always not get what you don't want… but you might get what you need ~ Tracy Bonham_

            He was given a new assignment.  The kidnapping footage had been turned over to some private investigation agency the next day and they'd agreed to take on the case of finding the missing "Knox".  They'd fallen for the bait – they were looking for Corwin, thinking the millionaire had something to do with the kidnapping.  The two had been competitors and so it had seemed like a good lead.  Now that he was "working" for Corwin, he should have no trouble getting into the middle of things.  He was told to attend a very upscale party Corwin was holding that evening.  It was very exclusive, but fortunately it was held in honor of the big race Corwin had entered his new car into and since he was now the official driver of said racecar his name was on the guest list.

            He was told to attend and these detective people would be there, looking for him.  Apparently they had a photograph of him, successfully extracted from the security camera footage.  He was to somehow lead them to "Knox" who would be tied up in a room a few blocks away.  He arrived at the foot of the tall skyscraper, amidst flashing lights and shiny limousines and walked to the door.  He was stopped by two beefy security guards.  When he gave his name and it was subsequently located on the very long guest list, one spoke into the walkie-talkie he was carrying and then he was let through.  He made his way up to the penthouse/rooftop where the party was held.  He was admitted through the doors and immediately found himself a spot near the wall where he could take it all in.  The apartment was located in the midst of the newer part of Chinatown, where the office buildings and other apartments rose high into the night sky, cutting off the view of the far off hills and mountains of the valley.  It was already very crowded here, though not overly loud.  These people were money and it showed in the way they walked and talked, sipping their champagne, laughing good-naturedly at jokes and stories even as they exchanged looks of disdain with their partners.  Everything was very much about show and keeping up appearances here.  Intermingled with the guests were waiters and waitresses in black and white carrying silver trays of exotic mixed drinks from the bar.  There were girls in multi-colored kimonos, heavily made up, bearing plates of various delicacies which the people were gingerly picking through.  There was even a fire-eater there, entertaining a crowd.  In the midst of it all was Corwin, surrounded by a bevy of girls dressed in gowns that were barely there, despite the breeze.  He was too distracted by his company to notice his racecar driver standing there, half in shadow, but it was just as well.  He was glad to not be noticed; glad the invite was not much more than a formality.

            He was at a loss.  They'd told him that it was three women he was supposed to keep an eye out for.  Three _women_?  The place was crawling with women!  They went on for miles, in every possible color.  Everywhere he looked, they were coming around another corner, and in groups too, gobs and gobs of them.  He needed a cigarette.

            He moved off to where it was slightly less crowded, stood by the wall smoking and watched the goings on from his vantage point, feeling somewhat calmer.  _How was he supposed to tell the difference?_

            Then he saw them and he knew right away.  They weren't even standing next to one another and yet he spotted all three within seconds of seeing the first one.  Two were dressed up as guests and one was posing as a waitress.  There was definitely something different about them.  All the other women there were just pretty decoration, dolled up, lipsticked and rouged, standing in groups trading catty gossip, or else hanging on the arm of a rich husband or boyfriend, trying to look the picture of success.  These ones were definitely not of that stock – there was something in the way they moved that was purposeful, strong, and their eyes held a steely resolve.  And yet, to top it all off, there was almost something playful in their demeanor.  They knew exactly what they were doing and they enjoyed it immensely.  He looked away quickly and took a long drag off his cigarette.  When he looked back, as careful as he was, one was staring directly at him.  She was dark haired, wearing a long, red dress that offset the very serious look in her eye.  There was an instant recognition as they each sized the other up.  She was already moving toward him, and quickly too.  This was it then.

            He carefully kept his face straight and walked the perimeter of the room, careful to keep his gait steady, all the time watching them out of the corner of his eye.  Good, all three of them were closing in on him.  He rounded a corner, walking down a hall till he got to a door.  He pushed the button and the paper-thin shoji panel slid noiselessly into the wall, leading to another room where, thankfully, the elevator was located.  He pushed the down button and grabbed his cane out of the stand where he'd left it upon entering the party.  Only when he was safely on the elevator did he turn around to face his pursuers.  The dark haired one was in the lead and, dropping the guise of a casual stroll, she made a run for the elevator.  She was too late by a mere fraction of a second and the door slid shut in her face.  He allowed himself to glance up at her as the door shut her out, thrilling in the moment of facing her, facing them all, and coming that close to being trapped.

            'This would be so easy,' he thought as he finally reached the ground level and made his way out a back door.  He crossed the street, heading for the alley.  Pausing on the other side, he heard the door slam open behind him, and defiantly took one last drag, finishing off his cigarette, before throwing it on the ground and running off into the shadows.  

            Easy indeed.

            He should have known.

            The actual fight was over within a matter of minutes, but they felt like the longest minutes of his life.  He ran down the alley with an easy speed and he heard their footsteps matching his behind him.  About halfway through, the alley made a sharp left turn.  As soon as he'd rounded the corner he was greeted with a locked gate.  _It hadn't been locked that afternoon!_  Okay, improvise time.  He leapt up and over a large box lying in front of the gate and turning in mid-air, whipped out his pistol and fired a few warning shots as the girls came into view.  To his surprise the girls came to _life_ then, hurtling out of the way with an almost dizzying speed.  Their sudden and perfect actions startled him so much, in fact, that, panicking, he emptied out his gun within a matter of seconds, his back to the fence, shooting at anything that moved.  He heard the empty clicks, and saw that the girls had heard too, as they sprung from the cover they'd taken, and he flung the useless thing aside.  Holding up his cane, he used it to cartwheel himself through the narrow opening in the gate.  He took the fall rolling and was up within a matter of seconds.  Even that didn't stop them.  The black-haired one and the redhead quickly catapulted their blonde friend over the fence and all he saw as he backed up was her heels sailing toward him.  He turned and ran, ducking just in time, but she was holding onto some kind of red banner hanging from the building, and using this and the wooden fence on the other side of the clearing as a spring board she made another run for him.  This time he wasn't quick enough and a well-placed kick in the chest sent him flying backward into the gate.  The other two were already scaling the chain links behind him and in a matter of seconds they'd sprung over him and, flanking their just-landed friend, they faced him, ready to get down and dirty.  He too readied himself, facing off in an almost formal sort of way.  _If they wanted a fight, they were going to get one, women or not._

            He held up his cane and pulled on the curved handle, pulling the blade free of its sheath, and tossing this aside, he ran at his opponents, in full attack mode.  Before his blade could hit its mark, though, Blondie, leaning back on the two others for support, kicked up real high, pulling her foot back at the last minute, catching him square in the chin.  The force delivered behind this blow sent him straight up and over – head over heels.  He managed to keep a hold of his sword _and _land on his feet, but the two other girls, waiting for him to land, kicked out at an eventually intercepting angle.  Of course, he was standing exactly where their feet intercepted and this kick, landing again on his chest, sent him hurtling into the gate for a second time.

            Feeling that he was getting _entirely_ too chummy with this chain-link fence, and not wanting to lose his nerve, he let out an intimidating war cry, at the same time rising to his feet.  He brought his sword up and out to center himself and let out another threatening cry for good measure.  Redhead quickly stepped back, out of the way of his flailing blade, while he blocked a blow from Black-hair with his other hand.  He whipped the sword at her and missed, but scored a kick, which pushed her back a few feet.  Blondie made a kick at his head, which he barely blocked, and once he knocked back Redhead, who was busy going for his knees, he went after her.

            She was good, he had to give her that.  She easily dodged each of his swings and jabs, all the while running backwards, her arms cutting through the air gracefully.  The girl could have been dancing.  But he found an opening and took it, repaying her with a sharp kick to the chest, sending her, not up against the wooden fence, but _through _it.  She landed hard and he made to go after her when a large broom handle came out of nowhere and ripped his feet out from under him, slamming him face down on the asphalt.  He reacted quickly as Black-hair made an attempt at flattening him with said broom, launching himself into a back flip.  On his feet, he used his sword to block the broom, which was swinging toward his face.  He spun and they sparred for a few moments, until he again spun around and using the weight of this motion, kicked her hard into the chain link fence.  It knocked the wind out of her and she clutched her chest, gasping for air.  

            He put up one hand to center himself and also to gauge where to aim his blade when, out of nowhere Redhead was on his back, screaming and trying to wrestle his sword away.  He spun around and around but she was tough and hung on.  He could feel the heat of her through his blazer and shirt, and she very quickly filled up his every sense.  Her weapon now, most likely unknown to her, was the scent that rolled off her.  It was from no outside source, nothing artificial that had been added.  It was her skin and her hair, something unique and strangely nostalgic.  Something from childhood… maybe it was only because it had been such a long time since anyone had gotten this close.  Whatever it was, it was all over him and taking him into dangerous territory.  Half regretfully and half frenzied, he spun his way over toward the side of a brick building where two large metal hook-loops stuck out.  He backed into these and she cried out in pain, her grip momentarily loosening.  This was all the chance he needed and he reached up, grabbing a handful of her hair.  He pulled hard, at the same time flinging himself forward, bending over, the combination of this sending her flying right over his head.  He looked down at the handful of scarlet colored hair in his hand.  _How fortunate…_

            He took a few defiant seconds to fully appreciate his prize, holding it against his cheek and breathing in deeply, as the three girls gaped in horrified wonder.  'So soft,' he thought.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Blondie rise, ready to fight, and more importantly ready to interrupt this most treasured of his few guilty pleasures.  He angrily flung his sword at her and she barely spun away in time.  He probably shouldn't have done that.  Stuffing the hair into his pocket, to keep it safe, he went to retrieve it, but she cut him off, jumping up and kicking at him, which he was forced to block.  She then bent over and Redhead jumped on her, back-to-back, bringing her feet over in a deadly arc which caught him square in the jaw.  Before he could recover from this, Black-hair jumped up and sent both spiked heels across his face.  Redhead caught her _and _managed to kick him at the same time.  It was in the stomach mostly, and did little damage, not like the spiked heel, which _AGAIN _smacked his face via the Redhead/Black-hair whirling dervish that used to be two separate girls.  

           They were all coming at him at once now, and he was beginning to see stars.  He never even saw Blondie coming until it was too late and she bore down on him like a hungry wolf going in for the kill.  Though the second stretched from a seeming eternity, he, stunned and nearly exhausted by these crazy girls, could only back up a few steps and bring his arms up in a feeble attempt at shielding his face.  It did no good.  She kicked him in the chest, hard enough to send him into a violent somersault.  He ended up on his hands and knees near a wall, and looked up shaking with anger and pain.  And they… they weren't even _fazed_!  They were entirely ready for another go!  

            There was the tunnel over his left shoulder, the one that led to "Knox".  He jumped up and made a run for it.  He'd just have to go back for his sword later.  They were quick.  He barely had time to hide in one of the rooms down the long hallway, a place he'd already set up, when he could hear them kicking in the doors.  His own door hit the wall with a jarring slam and through the tiny crack in his hiding place he saw Redhead take a quick look around the room before leaving.  _Impatient._

             He sat there in absolute silence, listening to them as they _found_ "Knox", untied him, and eventually left.  For good measure he waited a while longer and when it had been quiet for long enough he finally emerged.  He walked back to the alley, not quite knowing what to make of things.  He picked up his sword and after a little looking found the other piece and resheathed it.  He remembered that his gun was on the other side of the gate.  _Damn!_  Now he'd have to go around the long way to get it.  He really didn't feel like catapulting himself through again, he didn't know if his aching ribs could take it at the moment.                                                   

             He gritted his teeth in anger.  _Never_ had he taken a beating like this before!  Sure there were three of them, but he should have been able to handle that.  He'd trained himself, _hard_, on working against multiple opponents and that training had paid off when he'd been jumped a few times on the job.  These girls were good.  He had to give them points for their style and their endurance.  He could admit when he'd been beat, though it angered him.  

             Of course, he told himself as he made his way around the old buildings, he _had_ to let them win, to let them get away.  It was part of the plan.  McCadden had emphasized that he was _not _to let it look, in any way, like he was leading them.  So fight them a while, get them to chase him, and then disappear.  He _had _to hold back, go easy on them.  This hadto go according to plan and _that _is why they were still alive.  At least that's what he kept telling himself.  Pride is a terrible thing. 

            Truth be told, looking back later, he realized that in addition to the rage he felt at being defeated by these beautiful girls, something about it all was strangely thrilling.  Yeah, so he'd taken a beating, but it had been done with the same form and grace he so strictly held himself to.  These girls weren't just brawling – they were _fighting_.  They knew how to fight like he knew how to fight and they knew how to _win_.  Like he did.  He no longer felt so alone, but instead experienced a feeling that was strangely like… being understood.  In a world of mediocrity, he had finally found a worthy opponent.

            Best part of it all – he'd found three of them. 


	5. Ch4: The Distance

            *** Hey everyone.  Sorry it's been so long since I've updated.  I'm still really unsure about whether or not to continue this…I'm still arguing with myself.  It's hard because I don't really know what everyone is thinking when they read this (except for those who have reviewed, and to those who have – thank you so much, it helps a lot) and so not knowing, I'm kind of afraid I'm making some big mistake with this whole thing.  So let me know, please.  I crave your thoughts and opinions.  o.O FEED ME! ~ Skyfire4***

**Ch. 4 – **The Distance

my car became the church and I ****

_the worshipper of silence there_

_in a moment peace came over me_

_and the one who was beating my heart appeared…_

            Two days later found him again at the California Speedway.  It was still about a week before the actual race was to take place, but there was still much to do beforehand.  Today the Time Trials were being held; where each racer was given the opportunity to drive the track alone, get a feel for it, show his stuff.  Statistics were kept and analyzations were made on each racer and where they all fit in connection with one another as far as their abilities went.  Most importantly the Time Trials provided a chance for all of the racecar owners and sponsors to premier their cars and show off what they'd accomplished.  All morning racers and cars, big business execs, and mechanic crews had came and gone, waiting for their turn on the track.  There was never more than a handful of competitors there at one time, as a few got there early or hung around after their turn to check out the competition.  The main attraction was the actual race, this preliminary stuff never drew too big of a crowd.  A few diehards and self-proclaimed racing experts, but that was about it.

            Being Corwin's driver, he was expected to attend and drive the car when Red Star's number came up.  This little side venture had nothing to do with the job, other than keep up appearances that he actually did work for Corwin.  It was just as well, though.  He loved racing more than anything.  It didn't matter what kind; car, motorcycle – he loved speed above all else.  That almost feeling of weightlessness, the way his surroundings became nothing more than a streaky blur, the shrieking of the wind in his ears, the thrill of the blood racing, screaming of life with every heartbeat.  

oh, are we locked into these bodies?

_are we anything at all?_

_let's hold out for something sweeter_

_spread your wings and fly_

He'd already decided that even if the job was done before the races were held, he was going to go ahead and race anyway.  There was no way he was going to give this up.

            The day was hot for mid-October and so while he waited, he stood in one of the viewing rooms, where it was cooler.  He stood back in the shadows, ignoring the few half-hidden glances thrown his way by the room's other occupants.  He could see Corwin standing out there, the center of attention as he boasted to a crowd of people who gazed approvingly at his racecar.  He said something and everyone chuckled, but his next words caused them all to back away slightly.  

            Bored, he swept his gaze over the other crews out in the pits.  Currently there was one car still on its last leg around the track.  It was bright orange and its crew waited listlessly in the wings.  The only other group was surrounding a car decked out in red, white and blue.

            How… patriotic.

            The Red Star group was located between him and this other crew, so he couldn't see much.  He looked at his "boss" and noticed that he too was staring in the direction of this other team.  Wondering what Corwin, who was known for his fierce sense of competition, would do, he wandered over to the doorway and watched him approach a member of the team.  It was a woman and she was smiling flirtatiously.  That was, no doubt, what had beckoned to Corwin.  She was using it all, the slow deliberate movements, the lingering gaze, the knowing smile and Corwin was eating it up, a fish on a hook.  He watched the two exchange coy words from his vantage point.  His eyes skimmed over the woman briefly.  She was far away, but had a smile that spanned a great distance.  He stared hard, something tugging at his memory.  She had long brown hair, which made her seem unfamiliar, and yet something about her…  He shook his head and stepped back into the shadows.

            A few minutes later a mechanic from his crew walked over and stuck his head in the door.  "Dude, you're up now."

            He grabbed his helmet from the counter and stepped outside, making his way over to the waiting car.  

            Corwin sauntered over, beaming.  "Ride 'em cowboy.  Make me proud," he said, grabbing his shoulder in a show of camaraderie.

            He nodded wordlessly and stepped back, waiting.  Once Corwin was out of view he reached into his pocket, fishing around until he found the lock of hair he'd kept from the other night.  He turned so that his back was to the main crush of people still watching and held up the lock so that it glowed in the sunlight.  He wondered what the other mechanics, which were finishing up with his car, thought, and then decided that he didn't care.  Let them wonder… form their own conclusions. 

            His thoughts suddenly spun off in an odd direction and he found himself thinking about the Renaissance period, a time of Kings and Queens, and warriors riding off into battle.  He thought of how the men would ride off to war on their steeds, riding through crowds of well-wishers, and at the last minute some woman, some beautiful princess-type, would burst through to join in seeing them off.  She'd find her lover, or else simply the man she pined for, and she'd reach out and tie a ribbon or a scarf onto his staff or his arm as he passed.  It wasn't unheard of to press a lock of shorn hair into a warrior's hands.  It was a symbol of love given, a show of loyalty and support.  Something he could take with him into the coming battle; it would keep his spirits up, maybe even protect him.  He'd seen a painting depicting this in a print shop once.  It was entitled "Godspeed" and the image once again burned in his mind.  He thought of what this lock of hair in his own hand actually depicted and almost laughed at the irony of it all.

            He had to smell it again, maybe even caress it against his face once more.  He'd kept it because of the power it represented to him.  It was even more important _because_ those girls had bested him in that alley – it was a piece of them.  He _had_ a piece of one of them in his control.  She could never get it back – it was his now.  A piece of her belonged to him and _that_ was power.  'Well, _Fair Lady_,' he thought wryly, tossing the hair into the car before jumping in himself, 'I guess you'll be riding off into battle with me.'  

            He knew something was wrong as soon as he'd peeled away, leaving black marks on the pavement and a cloud of smoke in his wake.  There was another roar of an engine, matching his, and yet no one else should have been on the track.  Had he been given the wrong directions?  He looked in his rear-view mirror.  It was the 'flag' car following him and the driver was the woman Corwin had been flirting with earlier.  Looking at her, it hit him, suddenly, where he knew her from.  Only her face could be seen through her helmet and without the brown hair to throw him off, he knew it was the blonde PI from the other night.  So _that's_ what was going on!

            He sped up but she paced him easily, a determined look on her face.  He tried swerving back and forth to panic her, but she simply held back, out of the way, unfazed.  Realizing that this was going nowhere quickly, he allowed her to catch up until they were side by side.  He turned his head in her direction and then, without warning, slammed on his brakes and spun his wheel hard.  With a loud shrieking sound, and the smell of burning rubber and grease, his car spun around backwards and then he floored it.  It didn't take this speed-demon pursuing him longer than a second to copy his move and then she was on his tail again.  

            This circle thing was not going to work and so, as the buildings came back into view he swerved to the right, jumping off the main track and heading down the on-ramp in the wrong direction.  He passed the pits, as well as Corwin, who was waving his arms frantically.  _If Blondie was here, then that meant that the other two…_ and there they were.  All he could see as he zoomed by was a flash of blue/black and blue/blonde, but he knew it was them.  He ignored the thrill that seized him and concentrated instead on getting through the main gates without hitting anything.  He spun out onto the main road, which was packed full of cars, semis, and minivans.  One look in his mirrors told him that she was still there, behind him.  He did a good job of swerving in between the cars on account of the fact that his car was slim and low to the ground.  But that could only help him for so long and at one point he was forced either to slow down or else to drive against traffic.  Slowing was not an option.  A red car, coming his way, laid on the horn, but there was nowhere else for him to go.  The red car veered sharply to the right and a second later he heard a crash.  It went on and on but he had no time to look or even to think.  He knew that she was still behind him and he could only go on, faster and faster, hoping to lose her somewhere or else to get her to drive off the road somehow.   

_oh the distance is not do-able_

_ in these bodies of clay…_

            It was no good, he couldn't shake her.  Finally he saw a bridge up ahead, and not only that, but it was an _empty_ bridge.  Perfect.

            He quickly zoomed over, and, arriving at the other side, he again slammed on his brakes and spun the wheel.  He remained where he'd turned this time, facing her.  As she entered the other side of the bridge, she saw what he was doing and skidded to a halt as well.  He revved his engine and she answered with a rev of her own.  They both sat there, each willing the other to make the first move.  Halfway down the bridge, a seagull sat perched between them, watching this display.  Spooked by the noise it took to flight and this sudden movement was the flag thrown into the air.  They both put the pedal to the metal and skidded off towards each other, in the midst of twin clouds of smoke, he half-crazed and she stubbornly determined.  First it seemed like they'd never reach each other and then it seemed like she was a goner, but at the last second he saw that her racer looked substantially lower to the ground than his.  

            That couldn't be good.

            Without really meaning to, he pulled to the right, just as she nosed under him.  They collided and he shot almost straight up into the air.  The collision, combined with the angle he'd been at successfully catapulted him up and over the railing of the bridge and then everything shifted downward violently as he fell.

_spread your wings and fly…_

  The sunlight glinted off the water, which came rushing up to meet him, blinding him, and then with a body-wracking jolt, everything went black. 

_*** Disclaimer time:  I do not own any of the song lyrics used in any chapter, and I neither own nor made up the painting "Godspeed".  The credit for this painting goes to Edmund Blair Leighton.  The song lyrics used in this chapter were taken from 'The Distance' by **Live**._ ***      


	6. Ch5: A Veiled Promise

*** Okay, I had this finished a while ago and I didn't mean for so much time to go by before I posted it, so sorry about that.  I also wanted to give a shout out to a few people who made my day by reviewing.  A big bunch of thanks to: Dearne, wolviesrogue, Justin11, mnemosyne23, Maya Clearwater, recumbentgoat, Kushelkitten, and an especially big thank you to Scarr C, Jess Leigh, and TMC (hey, that almost rhymes) for reviewing every chapter.  It really means a lot you guys. ***

**Ch. 5 **– A Veiled Promise

_King of the horseflies **/ **dark prince of death **/ **his tragic forces **/** are heaven sent **/ **in sweet things **/** in a lover's breath **/** in knowing this was meant to be the last… **/** …a veiled promise **/** to never die **/** to tread lightning **/ **to ink the lavender skies…_

            He woke almost a full minute later.  His nose was bleeding heavily, turning the water around his face a murky red, but that was the least of his worries.  The car had landed almost perfectly upside down, creating an air trap.  The seat was deep and the impact from hitting the water had wedged him in further, so that he remained suspended, almost doubled over rather than slipping out and sinking to the bottom, as he should have.  He considered staying right where he was.  The pain wasn't so bad and his head was only half-submerged.  He wondered how long it would take to use up this little pocked of air, but realized that he'd never have the chance to find out as he spied a stream of large bubbles climbing their way to the surface.  This air trap wasn't level and water was finding its way in.  

            _Okay, time to move then._

            He sucked in as much air as he could manage and then grabbed both sides of the car, straining to push himself back and down.  The car groaned terribly and water began to rush under, stinging his face.  The whole thing was becoming very unstable and he kept slipping.  He could barely see; that was the problem.  He let go with one hand to rip off his cracked helmet and let it go, into the depths of the water.  He didn't waste any time watching it disappear, instead giving himself one last push.  He slipped out easily then, kicking a little to further himself from the car, and made his way to the surface.

            People stared as he made his way out of the water, holding onto the rotting wood of the dock as he went.  Every bone ached and his lungs burned.  He paused in the sand, leaning against one of the columns to wipe hair and water out of his face.  Out of habit he went for his pockets and swore softly as he realized his cigarettes were gone.  This was followed by a slightly louder curse as he remembered the lock of hair he'd carelessly thrown into the car, instead of pocketing it, as he should have done.  That too was gone.  He ignored the looks and began walking again.

--

He didn't bother going to find Corwin to explain what had happened.  He knew the man's temper, and besides, what could he say?  He dare not go to the Speedway anyway – they'd most likely still be there.  Those girls.  He closed his eyes, thinking of them, wiping at his nose again.  It was still bleeding slightly.  He opened his eyes and stared at the blood on his hand.  No… he didn't want to run into them again right now.  

            So he kept to the back streets, making his way home so he could call McCadden and give him a heads up on his now most likely terminated employment with Red Star.  They'd have to hurry up and move along with things and he was glad.  He was starting to feel that this job just needed to be over and done with.

            Unfortunately, before he could get home and make said call, Corwin found _him._  He hadn't been paying close attention to which streets he was taking, just going in the general direction of home, when he looked up just in time to see Corwin leaving the police station across the street.  He put his head down quickly, but Corwin had already seen him.  The man ran across the street with a bevy of his acolytes still following him.

            "There you are!  What the HELL happened?  Where's my race car?!" Corwin yelled, his face getting redder and redder with every word.

            He sighed and faced the hysterical man.  "It's gone," he replied stonily.

            "What the BLOODY HELL do you mean, GONE?!  WHERE IS IT?!"

            "The harbor."

            Explaining would do no good, he knew, and so he offered nothing else.  Not like he'd have gotten a word in edgewise, had he tried, though.  Corwin screamed, ranted and raged, and then loudly fired him in front of all of the on-lookers who'd gathered.  Corwin finally left with a, "You'll be hearing from my lawyer!"  He just nodded and went on his way.  What were they going to take from him?  He really didn't _have_ anything to take.  He rented this tiny hole-in-the-wall pool house from a sweet old lady up in the hills, south of Ventura Blvd.  She sort of reminded him of the nuns from the orphanage.  The situation worked well, she gave him his space and he always made sure to slip the rent under the back door, 1st of every month.  He didn't even _have_ a bank account.  Most of the money he made on the job he sent to the orphanage, and what little was left over for living expenses was hidden away.  Corwin was an asshole, but he'd already known that.  That was why his next assignment bothered him, not at all.

--

            He didn't talk to McCadden until the next day.  He really hadn't wanted to deal with another rich SOB bawling him out and so he'd waited.  McCadden had called the next afternoon.  Surprisingly he wasn't even angry when he heard what had happened.  He found it extremely funny, which was irritating, but then he pointed out that Corwin had played his part and was no longer needed.  He was to be taken out of the picture the next evening.

            He made his way to Corwin's penthouse the next day, after darkness had fallen.  The assassination was to take place between eight and nine 'o clock.  That was fine.  Breaking in was easy.  He kept to the shadows, remembering every detail of the building photographically.  He'd only been here once, for the pre-race party, but once had been all that was needed.  The staff of the apartment never even saw him.

            He waited, watching as a maid, dressed in a black and green kimono, carried a tray to an outside terrace.  A second later she returned, passing by his corner, not knowing he stood a mere fraction of an inch away.  There were a few wisps of steam that clung to her petite form as well as to the doorway she'd just come through and he could detect a faint trace of chlorine on her as she passed.  Perfect.

            Gradually her footsteps faded down the long hallway and then there was only silence and darkness.  Quietly he slipped from the darkest shadow, rather resembling an extension of that shadow, and opened the door, stepping onto the rock pathway.  The air was humid and the sickly smell of chlorine was much stronger here.  He made his way over to the large lagoon-style Jacuzzi he knew he'd find.  Corwin was sitting beyond it, on a rise of large cement steps.  He was clad in a pair of swimming trunks and had a towel around his neck.  

The abundant amount of steam in the air provided him with enough cover to make his way over to his former "boss" undetected.  Corwin sipped his brandy, then set it down, putting his arms up behind him on the concrete, in oblivious relaxation.  Only when he was within a few feet of his target was he spotted.  Corwin looked up blearily and recognizing him, sat up straight.

             "What are _you_ doing here?" he asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

            He wasn't in the shadows now.  There was something so right about walking straight up to this man he was about to kill.  Taking him out from behind, from some hidden spot would never do it justice.  A man like this deserved to know he was going to die and by whose hand it would happen.  Especially for humiliating him in front of all of those people.  He didn't even need to do it very quickly – there _was_ no charging the victim.  He simply walked up to the man, put one foot on the lower step and, leaning forward, he held up his cane, almost like he was showing it to him.  His eyes never left those of his target, even as he whipped out the sword inside and with one swift motion, slit the artery in Corwin's neck.  The man flopped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.  He stared in a detached manner as he wiped the blood off his blade with one end of Corwin's towel.  Then he left, as easily as he'd come.

--

            He was to report back to McCadden's place as soon as the job was done.  He left his motorcycle at the bottom of the long driveway, like he'd been instructed to do, and walked up to the door.  The security camera identified him and McCadden met him at the door, opening it with one finger in front of his mouth, before he had a chance to knock.  He just glanced at his boss, who was dressed in a robe and looked particularly gleeful, like a kid who'd just done something bad, and followed him into the house.  He'd only been here once, and briefly marveled again how strange and modern the place was.  The whole house was round, all of the outer walls being made of glass.  From the outside, the house kind of resembled a flying saucer right out of the old movies.  

            McCadden motioned to the kitchen area, which was to the left of the central living room, behind a long curving wall.  He went, passing by Ms. Wood, Vivian, whatever her name was, who sat in a swivel chair in front of the fireplace.  They ignored each other. 

            The spacious room was dark, and while he waited, he lit a cigarette.  He wasn't sure what was going on, what they were waiting _for_, or why everyone was being so quiet.  After a minute or so he heard a door open and a voice call out.  A very _familiar_ voice.  His eyes widened with recognition, and he stood upright, creeping up to the edge of the wall, as near to the next room as he dared, listening.

            "Hey, don't stand next to the window, 'cause it's not safe."

            It was her, the Redhead, but what was she doing here?  He ignored McCadden's murmured words, only concentrating on hers.

            "Listen, I just found out that –," her words were cut off by a ring.  "Who's that?"

            Vivian answered and he heard her climb out of the chair and cross the room.  

            "…I can see by your 'gown' that you're unarmed…"

            McCadden replied with one of his usual quips and then she told them both to have a seat.  He could hear her crossing the room, coming closer to where he stood.  She finished her call in low tones on the other side of the wall they shared.  Beyond her the other two were whispering, but what they were saying he couldn't make out.  He thought he heard McCadden say something like 'I know'.  That's what it sounded like, and immediately following that were the sounds of him standing up and walking away.  Something about the silence in the room, the tension that hung after this exchange of words seemed to mean that some truth was about to be revealed.  So, it was time then.

            He stood up straight and walked out into the main room, just in time to see Vivian whip out a gun and point it directly at Red-head, who was wearing nothing but a sheet.  So _that's_ what McCadden had been grinning about.

            "Sad news… your girlfriends are dead," Vivian sneered.  "Corwin?"

            It took him a second to register that the question had been directed at him.  Though he'd managed to keep walking and not miss a step when he saw what she was wearing, he was having a hard time tearing his gaze away from this lone girl, standing there, bravely facing them all.  She met his gaze with a distrustful glare, putting one arm across her chest protectively.  He carefully kept his face blank and continued past them, nodding decisively at Vivian, while exhaling a cloud of smoke.  Past them now, he sneaked another glance at her, taking a drag from his cigarette as he did so.  

            Music spilled into the room and McCadden's off-key voice joined in over his shoulder.  She stared right back at him, hatred pouring out of her eyes…no, at McCadden, who'd shed his robe to reveal clothes very different from the ones he'd previously worn around her.  It seemed to illustrate, all the more, his betrayal.  He stood near the windows, gazing outside, listening to the conversation while he finished his cigarette.

            "…tomcat in the sack!" he heard McCadden say, picking a strawberry from the goblet that sat on the coffee table.  He tried not to let his mind wander down _that_ particular road, instead concentrating on the name McCadden had just called her by.  Dylan.

            There was a brief flash of movement as Dylan slapped McCadden's hand away from her face.  McCadden had gotten too close, but there was not much she could do, in her state.  He watched out of the corner of his eye in a sort of detached curiosity.

            "…you had no idea that this was going to happen?" McCadden asked around a mouthful of strawberry.

            Vivian put her hand up.  "I knew," she said with a haughty smile.

            "Uh-huh.  She knew," McCadden agreed, moving to stand next to her.  

            "And I know what's going to happen next," she said, as he began kissing her neck.

            "Tell 'er baby," McCadden said as she moaned in a low voice.  

            It was beyond disgusting.  He could see that Dylan agreed.

            "All the Angels are going to heaven."

            'Angels?' he thought.  _Interesting._

            She stood there, asking questions, which they answered easily.  McCadden kept spitting bits of strawberry at her, which she ignored.  "The kidnapping was a set up."

            "'Fraid so."

            "And Red Star was a set up."  This one she directed at him.  Their eyes met but he didn't answer.  McCadden did.

            "Uh huh.  You got it all figured out.  Any other questions?"

            "Why?" she asked with quiet earnestness.

            "Ask your boss," was the cryptic reply.  So _that's_ who they were after.

            "Charlie?  You're after Charlie?"

            Something in the mere mention of his name seemed to anger McCadden – he immediately tensed up.  "Charlie… Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," he murmured, flicking the butt of a lit cigarette at Dylan, who backed up quickly.  He took the gun from Vivian and held it to his own head while he spoke, then pointed it at Dylan, who slowly backed up even further, until the glass wall was at her back.

            He tensed, watching.  Everything seemed to stop and wait, the whole world stopped mid-breath to await this girl's fate.

            McCadden pulled the trigger and with a scream she was gone.  She flew out through the shattered glass, the only thing left as a testament to her very existence being a little bit of sheet, caught on a glass shard jutting up from the sill.  The earth began to breathe again, and time began once again to move, leaving her behind.  He stood, rooted to the spot, impassively smoking as he watched McCadden saunter over and pick a double-framed photograph off of the desk.  He looked at it briefly before snapping it shut. 

            "Come on," McCadden said shortly, and he followed.  

            He walked after the other two, ignoring them as they argued over where to eat.  He couldn't resist one more look at the large gaping hole where she'd stood just a minute before.  He looked at the forlorn bit of sheet that clung to the glass and wondered what might be at the other end of it.  He told himself it didn't matter and to prove that he looked away and walked out the front door, following the other two.

            They noticed nothing and so he climbed into McCadden's car with a funny taste in his mouth and a name on his mind.

_***Lyrics taken from Where Boys Fear To Tread by the Smashing Pumpkins***_


End file.
